The Edge of the Blade
by livyyellow
Summary: When an opportunity to perform at a charity showcase arises, Yuuri, Victor, and Yuri simply cannot refuse. Someone, however, has their sights set on the Russian Fairy and the events which unfold may just lead to the downward spiral of the worst kind for the young skater. This leaves Otabek, Victor, and Yuuri to pick up the pieces and determine what went wrong.
1. Welcome to Omsk

"Did I tell you that Otabek and I are changing our song for the duet?" Yuri prodded, glancing at Victor and Yuuri, who had his head nestled onto Victor's shoulder.

"This late? To what?" Victor asked.

Wordlessly, Yuuri's lips twisted upwards as he hit play on his phone.

" _Glitter on the mattress_

 _Glitter on the highway_

 _Glitter on the front porch_

 _Glitter on the highway_

 _The love shack is a little old place_

 _where we can get together_ _."_

"Ah," Was all Victor said.

Yuuri's eyes only widened comically as his expression was painted a magnificent rose color.

Yuri silenced the music and slipped the tiger cased phone back into his pocket. "Perhaps we are not truly changing it. Welcome to the Madness is still entertaining and we have not completely perfected it yet. But what would you think about that piece for another performance?"

"Is there stripping in this one, too?" Yuuri mumbled, nestling into Victor's shoulder further as if to save himself from his own embarrassment. Yuri's grin only sharpened.

"That song certainly would be a surprise," Victor conceded.

"I thought you would agree with me."

Victor merely nodded in response, went about rousing Yuuri with a kiss on the head. Yuri went about imitating to gag. "Come, let us go inside," Victor instructed, and both other men followed after him, out of the bus, now full from dinner, and returning inside Omsk Arena, and out of the Russian chill.

The Grand Prix had been four months ago, and while the skaters all had begun to set their sights on the next challenges of their careers, when they heard that Omsk was having a charity showcase, how were two gold medalists and a fan-favorite silver medalist to refuse the offer of attending? The showcase was flooded with publicity when the trio went public on their attendance, only further rocketing the once small-scale event into the worldwide spot light. Christopher, Otabek, Georgi, as well as Phichit would all also be in attendance, and Yuuri could not wait to show off his newest free routine. He and Otabek would also be doing Welcome to the Madness, as well as Victor and Yuuri performing Stay Close To Me. they were also saving their free routines for the first official competition, and although Yuri had debated for some time on doing this, he secretly still wished to up Katsudon-he always would-and so he resolved to be prepared. Besides, it was for a good cause when seventy five percent of ticket sales going back to youth charities.

"Are there any love shack visits I should be concerned about?" Victor asked, his expression contorting into something smug. Yuri flipped up his hood despite the fact that they had just entered the arena, so as to better hide the heat creeping up the back of his neck.

He let out a crass snort. "Please, I do not know what you are talking about. The song is merely upbeat and, as you said, surprising. Nothing more."

"Whatever you say-"

Any more conversation was soon hopelessly drowned out by the sound of screeching Yuri's Angels, causing Yuri to slump into his jacket even more at the sight of perhaps twenty adolescent girls scrambling over one another to snap pictures with him.

"Do not go visiting any shacks," Victor said in farewell, his hand slipping down Yuuri's arm to intertwine his fingers with the Japanese skater's own. They both still wore their rings.

"It was a joke, it was a joke! I was trying to make a joke, old man, shut up!" Yuri hissed.

Both Victor and Yuuri dissolved into a fit of chuckles as they left the barely sixteen year old to deal with his fans, and the millions of pictures which came with it. After perhaps half an hour, and having to turn away a particularly rowdy group of three who were getting a little too touchy and physically followed him into the locker-room, Yuri clawed his way to freedom. He ushered them out, and offered a stiff nod of acknowledgement to Georgi who was lacing up his skates, which he returned Since Yuri won gold at the grand prix and Victor announced his return, the competition between the Russian skaters had only increased exponentially. Yuri then checked that the door to the locker room was officially bolted behind him so that no more Yuri's Angels could come barging in, and then he noticed that neither Victor nor Yuri were anywhere in sight, and he assumed they had gone to practice some on the ice. He had half a mind to not follow them after, knowing he had a one in two chance of walking in on them sucking face.

The showcase would begin tomorrow, and while Yakov told Yuri over and over that, especially at his age, he should not push himself too far, he was tempted to go out to the ice. In the end, however, he convinced himself otherwise. He had been practicing this morning, and was content to stretch for another twenty minutes before retiring for the evening.

Tentatively, he poked his head out of the locker room and saw that, while there were a few Yuri's Angels in sight, the mob of before had vanished. He slipped out silently when he spotted a chance, in search of his grandfather so they could return to the hotel, forgetting to lock the door behind him. He did not get very far, however, as instead when he rounded a corner, the back of Otabek-broad shoulders and leather jacket and tousled black hair easily recognizable as far as Yuri was concerned, came into view.

"Otabek," Yuri hollered in greeting. The man turned around and offered the faintest of smiles, his lips barely even twitching upwards at all. "Are you going back to the hotel?"

"Probably. Want a ride?"

"Always," bubbled up before Yuri could stop it. But this was a _motorcycle_ they were discussing of _course_ he could not say no.

Wordlessly, Otabek's grin widened faintly.

"I just have to tell _dedushka_ that I am leaving," Yuri added.

"Want me to come?" Otabek asked.

Yuri's shoulders lifted into a shrug, "Do you want to? Or are you still scared of him?"

"You are being ridiculous."

Yuri's eyebrows neared his hairline in response as he made his way into the rink, Otabek following close behind, only to see-sure enough-Yuuri and Victor swapping spit on a bench, both evidently tired out, but not too much, from practice.

"Gah-get a room!" Yuri shot, brushing past them as quick as he could.

"We have one, it is just more convenient here," Victor chimed.

"Grandfather," Yuri said in greeting, moving to tightly hug the older man as he did so. Vaguely he noticed Otabek must have stayed near Victor and Yuuri. "I am going to head back to the hotel with my friend."

The man's eyes narrowed, "Friend, eh? The one in the leather? He looks suspicious, Yurochka."

"I promise he in fine. He is a figure skater, too, surely you have seen him compete-"

"Of course I have, Yurochka. I just do not trust that bike of his he always is on."

"Dedushka," Yuri pleads gently.

His grandfather let out a huff. "Fine. Go have fun, be safe, but I trust you will be back by nine."

"Of course, I love you," Yuri said with a beaming grin, hugging the man fiercely once more. He dashed back over to Otabek, Victor, and Yuuri, giving Otabek's sleeve a slight tug as he turned back to his grandfather once more after Otabek handed him a helmet in a very blatant fashion. "See you tonight!"

* * *

 **A/N: For the purpose of this story I will address Yuuri Katsuki as "Yuuri" and Yuri Plisetsky as "Yuri" to hopefully clear up some confusion.**

 **Also please go easy on me my figure skating knowledge is minimal at best, I have been told I skate like a hockey player, and have fallen so badly that my bottom tooth went into my upper lip (need I say I am not the most graceful?) so take my skating jargon with a grain of salt. Also according to google Dedushka could be used to say grandfather in Russian, but I do not speak a single lick of Russian, so if this is wrong I apologize.**

 **Double also the song quoted at the beginning in italics is "Love Shack" by the B-52s.**

 **Thank you all for reading, hope you enjoyed it so far!**


	2. Enjoy Yourself

It was the next morning, as although Yuri and Otabek ended up enjoying a night of some brief sightseeing along side Yuuri and Victor, who caught up with them, everyone was in agreement that any serious drinking or staying out incessantly late would not be a wise idea. By the time Yuri returned to the room he shared with his grandfather, he saw the man was up, which caused a pang of guilt to go through him even though he knew the man only wanted to make sure he got back alright. The skater got ready for bed in record time, before burrowing himself under the covers.

* * *

It was early, before the sun even rose, by the time Yuri clambered out of bed and got back to the arena, clutching a bag with his uniform and headphones, he was wide awake in anticipation. His grandfather soon departed with a hug to head to a nearby cafe, and promised to be back before Yuri's routine.

Even though the event itself was not a competition, it was clear to Yuri that all of the skaters tended to get hyped before they were going out to perform. Lilia had not even come, as she was still a ballet instructor and was kept by her classes despite the fact that Yuri still studied under her on a weekly basis. Yachov still pounced on him and gave Yuri some pointers which mostly consisted of stern words, but even he was relatively relaxed in comparison to normal as he departed to talk to Victor and Georgi on the rink. The crowds could already be heard milling out and above them, cheering all the while. Yuri had changed into his uniform under his jacket andi could not help but bounce up and down on his feet, still wearing his shoes. Currently, Phichit was performing first, and Yuri would be up next.

"You alright, Yurio?" Yuuri asked, glancing up at him from where he sat tying up his skates. "You're scowling. This day is less intense than usual."

"I know that, piggy," he said, teeth gritting together. "I just cannot help it."

A hand finally settled on his shoulder and pressed down lightly, and Yuri pouted as Otabek stopped his bouncing.

"I am going to go run out and catch the rest of Phichit's free skate," Yuuri informed, standing with a farewell grin before slipping through the door. "Good luck, next, Yurio!"

"I won't need it," he muttered. Christopher and Georgi were already in the stands too, and Yuri took a moment to stretch before his gaze raked around the room. "Where are my skates?" He muttered, opening his locker and scowling. "Did I leave them by the bench?" He whispered to himself, his stomach beginning to churn, before Otabek's words reached his ears.

"Here they are, Yura." He lifted the pair of pearl skates carefully, rubber guards still firmly in place "They were by the trash can."

"They what?" Yuri snapped, all but growling as he snatched them from Otabek. "Bastard janitorial staff probably moved them-"

"Be nice."

"I _am_ nice."

Yuri sat down and hastily laced up his skates as quick as his narrow fingers could, before shrugging off his coat. His outfit was more traditional compared to what he wore for Welcome to the Madness, albeit it still had his flare. One sleeve was a thick fishnet material, leaving much of the skin exposed, with the other sleeve draping down to his wrist in a shimmering gray color. Splashes of magenta and plum sequins littered his person, along with his hair. His pants were black, but some more fishnet splashed across the legs as well, with a sheer piece of magenta behind the fishnet. "Here-wait-Beka," Yuri said quickly, fishing his phone out of his jacket pocket as Otabek, clad in street clothes as he was not performing until later, half turned away to go watch the other skaters. Yuri flipped the camera around and pointed it at the both of them. Then he nearly choked when Otabek wrapped an arm around his shoulders with the smuggest, shit-eating gleam in his eye. Yuri's smile almost faltered.

Once the photo was taken, he erupted into laughter and swatted at the man. "Edge of the Blade today, Welcome to the Madness Tomorrow-hashtag Omsk, hashtag charity, hashtag skating-there!"

There were two hands on his, and tugging him to his feet, and all but shoving him out the door after Yuri put his phone away. "Ready to debut your free program?" Otabek asked, walking next to the blond.

Yuri grinned. "You bet I am."

"Get out there, Fairy of Russia," Otabek instructed, "your fans await."

That certainly was true, as the cheers from Phichit's performance had calmed down in favor of the high pitched screeching of Yuri's Angels as the program made it clear who was skating next. The sound felt light lightning to Yuri, "Watch this, hero of Kazakhstan."

He moved towards the rink, nearly falling and blaming his sheer excitement, and met Victor, Yuuri, Phichit, Christopher, JJ, and two skaters Yuri was less familiar with named Hikaru Fujiwara and Cao Bin, at the rink wall. Otabek leaned against it easily. Yuri was greeted by some as the lights dancing across the warm hues of his outfit, bringing out the plums and pinks.

"Next we have Yuri Plisetsky debuting his free program entitled Edge of the Blade," the announcer said as Yuri removed the rubber guards from his skates hastily and glidded out onto the ice, his expression blank, but his fingers twitching to get going.

The lights sank into a deep cool tone, and the music of an intense electric guitar slowly building and building, faster and louder, began. He lifted his arms, and pushed forward.

 _"You've been tryin' very hard,_

 _Now this time you've gone too far,_

 _Your performance perfect"_

 _In every way perfect!"_

"His first jump is a quadruple salchow-and he nails it, raising his hands at the end for more points, spectacular! He follows this with a triple lutz and a triple toe loop-yes, he's done it again!"

The routine felt more like something holy than anything to Yuri. Skating almost always had to him. It was certainty, and joy, and a thrill, and devotion, and proof, to him, that he was exactly where he needed to be. Slowly, the lights shifted from a cool tone to their normal silver hue, casing the gray of his outfit to be accentuated. All of the tension in his muscles uncurled and a grin tugged on his lips-peaceful, sharp, motivated-because he was sixteen now, and he had given this sport everything and therefore expected everything in return.

 _"I hear rumors all around,_

 _Contracts and lawyers_

 _And champagne downtown,_

 _Tell me what you think_

 _You want me to do."_

Yuri skidded around the rink, ice flashing a brilliant silver, and spread his arms wide, chest lifted, chin up, towards the crowd which greeted him with a roar.

"Now he is moving into the footwork sequence," the announcer narrated, and Yuri smirked. Damn _right_ he was. The speed and the sequences and the timing with the music was rhythmic, intoxicating, jagged and confident, and everything he ever could want it to be. This year-this year-he was coming for gold without a single doubt in his mind. His window was narrowing before he began growing, and while he would continue with skating, he knew there would be a period of awkwardness which came with growth. He would get taller, likely bigger, and he would have to re-learn himself. But he wouldn't worry of that then. Now, all he cared about was this routine, this moment, this music, and the hammering of his heart in his chest.

 _"I've been always fair with you,_

 _Turning on me_

 _After all we've been through,_

 _You want trouble then that's just_

 _The way it will be."_

The step sequence was seamless, and he moved into a half-Biellmann spin, one foot raised above his head, his hands holding it in place, and he wavered slightly on one leg. But he continued, hardly batting an eye, and the crowd whistled and clapped and Yuri felt at home.

Again the announcer spoke, "Now he is moving into a quadruple toe-loop and-oh his hand touched the ice-oh he almost falls-but he keeps going!"

Yuri's stomach clenched when his hand felt the bite of the ice beneath his palm and his leg wavered, something feeling off, but he could only focus on pushing himself back up and onto his feet and continuing with the routine. He could do this, he was Yuri Plisetsky, gold medalist. This was _his_ time.

" _You're caught up in the power_

 _A blue magical maze_

 _Now the circle is broken_

 _In a spellbinding rage."_

"And now his next and final jump is a triple axel. It's quite the feat for him to put this jump at the end of his program. He-oh- _oh no-_ and he does not stick the landing!"

Rather all Yuri had time to do was for his heart to pound in his chest and his ears as he felt something in his foot feel as if it shifted, and for his body to teeter far to one side, followed by less than a blink of realization that not only was he falling but he was falling hard, hands raised, and he had no time-there was no time to stop himself-

Yuri collided harshly with the ice, and a crack followed. A gasp bounced through the crowd, as even amateurs could tell a fall like that was no ordinary one which the average skater-Yuri Plisetsky no less-could easily bounce back from.

The audience waited for the Fairy of Russia to rise, but no such thing happened, and instead a heavy silence felt like it sank over the crowd.

It took many moments, however, for someone to stop the music. The notes kept playing, the guitar and vocals mocking, as Yuri did not rise.

 _"Better see if you're holdin'_

 _The wrong edge of the blade,_

 _If it's sharp, if it cuts,_

 _Enjoy yourself."_

"It appears as if Plisetsky has taken a heavy fall. Oh dear this is the type of thing you never want to see," the announcer trailed off.

Without warning, Yuri's prone form rolled over, now coated in flecks of bitter ice, and then he jerked a hand towards his leg with a sharp, high pitched cry.

"Yuri, stop moving!" Victor shouted, flinging himself up and over the wall lining the ice rink, with Yachov on his heels.

* * *

 **A/N: Thank you again for reading, and hope you enjoyed it! The song quoted throughout is Edge of the Blade** **by Journey, which is also where I got the story title inspiration. As you can tell, the up beat nature of the first chapter likely will not last very long, since I do like getting right into the thick of things, and don't like spending time on exposition. So, things should move quickly from here on out!**


	3. Keep it Together

When Victor had been watching Yuri's routine, the only thing which made him nervous was the competition he represented for this coming season.

But there was a spark of pride, too. He has seen the boy when he originally came to train alongside Yuuri and compete at Hot Springs on Ice, and while he had talent, he was arrogant in such a way which bordered on being detrimental. But there had been much growth over time, too, and the loss to Yuuri did the boy some good. It was not until Yuri broke Victor's world record that he realized just how much of a (tiny) powerhouse he was-and how much of a kind hearted boy he was, too, although for the sake of the sixteen year old's pride he would not admit that out loud.

"Even I have to admit Yuri-chan is good," JJ mumbled. Even though he was not competing, he had come to watch, which Victor had to admit was admirable considering how long the trip was.

"If you do not stop calling him that he might actually punch you one of these days," Yuuri replied. Victor could feel a hint of a smirk tugging on his lips as he watched and listened to the quieted conversation, which could barely be heard over the loud music.

"I heard you calling him the Fairy of Russia moments ago!" JJ stated, jabbing a finger in Otabek's direction, who did not even allow the man a single glance.

"You have to earn the right to poke fun," Victor supplied. "For some reason I do not think you-hn-have." Victor's words paused slightly when he saw Yuri stumble, but he managed to catch himself. "He truly is doing well, especially for one so young."

"I am still getting gold this year," Yuuri affirmed, and Victor's grin only grew.

"That is if I do not beat you to it."

"Please," Chirstopher drawled with an excited grin in his eye, "I am going to over take you both."

Phichit glanced over at the man without ceasing his texting on his phone, "That is if you can keep the ice dry."

A ripple of a small chuckle went through all of them. This did not last, however, as everyone tensed upon seeing what happened next on the ice.

"Ah-no he fell," Yuuri winced, only for his eyes to continue too widen. "He-he-"

Victor, without a word, leaned over the wall of the rink, his eyes glued to the blond, waiting-waiting-waiting for him to rise, only it did not happen. His stomach and chest clenched.

Skaters all had fallen at some point, and having one's body slap against solid ice was never a good feeling. Some falls were worse than others, and many had seen horrible falls as a result of a lift gone poorly in duets. But regardless of the situation, no fall was fun to watch, less even so when it was someone you knew.

"He is not getting up," Christopher muttered blankly.

"Is he okay?"

"What happened?"

Yuuri and Phichit both took off, words tumbling past their lips faster than Victor could hardly comprehend.

Then, mercifully-or perhaps not if the painful cry which followed was anything to go by-Yuri appeared to roll over and one hand reached for his leg. Victor's heart pounded as he yelled at the boy not to move. He could not tell if the boy's head hit the ice, but he had his fears. One should not move with a concussion, Victor knew that, as did Yuri, but he wondered if the boy was very coherent at the moment. His eyes did not even take the chance to skim the rink walls, not waiting to see if there were any paramedics present to help, and instead vaulted himself over the walls despite the fact that he was merely wearing sneakers, and he skidded across the ice. He heard Yachov shout to the boy in Russian as he followed.

When he neared Yuri, his stomach only churned further. The boy was on his back, face screwed up into a brutal wince and his eyes were shut harshly. One hand had his fingers wrapped tightly around the pant material on his right side and the other hand moved towards his face to cover his eyes.

"Yuri, Yuri-it is Victor," he stated, kneeling next to the boy with Yachov on his other side.

"Fuck-fuck," Yuri muttered. "My ankle."

Yachov took off into a rapid string of Russian, asking Yuri every question under the sun about his head and his neck and telling him not to move and what part of his ankle hurt exactly.

Victor's eyes narrowed as he moved to glance at where the boy's skate reached his uniform. But instead, his gaze was captured by another thing, not too far away. That thing was a tiny screw sitting atop the ice, which would have been innocent enough, if Victor did not know they were what held Yuri's skate to his shoe, and that having them come loose could lead to disastrous results. He plucked it up and moved to glance over the bottom of the boy's skate, as Yachov was still questioning him rapidly, only now Yuri was not replying, rather he had covered his eyes with an elbow and a mutter after attempting to open his eyes. Evidently the bright lights and the harsh whiteness of the ice disagreed with him.

Victor's jaw clenched as he got on his hands and knees to try and look at the bottom of Yuri's skate without making him shift. Many of the screws were loose.

"Yachov," he said lowly, moving over to the man and kneeling next to him. At his arrival, Yuri shifted again, and his tone softened. "Yuri, you have to stop moving. You might have a concussion."

"Yachov said," Yuri muttered.

"Then _stop_ moving," Victor demanded. "Where is a doctor?" He hollered over his shoulder, anger beginning to prickle, as he expected someone to arrive by then. Many people stiffened at this.

Victor finally threw caution to the wind and neared Yuri, slipping the screw into Yachov's hand haphazardly, and placed one forearm on either side of the boy's head, leaning over him. "If you do not stop moving, you will hurt yourself more."

"Not concussed…" Yuri continued to mumble, his teeth gritting together and face screwing up further, more and more red slipping into his complexion as he spoke.

Victos's lips pursed, "Then open your eyes."

"Bastard," Yuri spat. At least he had the energy for that. "Everything's blurry… m'head hurts. Ankle hurts. Fuck. I fucked up. I cannot be hurt. I _can't._ "

"I know."

"Victor," Yachov said, his tone stretching and seething, low enough that Yuri might not head. "Where did you find this?" He asked, raising the hand with the screw tentatively.

"On the ice," Victor replied. "The others on his right skate are loose. When were they last checked?"

Victor hoped against hope that the answer would be a while ago-that they knew it needed to be done and it merely slipped their minds-that it was just an accident, and nothing else more sinister.

"Two weeks ago."

"Dammit."

"Move out of the way, I'm the doctor," a new voice said. A tall, lanky man with a mop of brown hair made his way through, closely followed by a shorter woman with a pixie cut, clutching a heaping bag of supplies.

"Took you long enough," Victor said shortly, moving to rise away from Yuri, wanting to squeeze his shoulder in reassurance or do _something_ but he merely could let the doctor do whatever they saw fit. Yachov, being Yuri's couch, strayed closer.

"What hurts, can you tell me? Can you open your eyes?"

"Hurts like hell if I do," Yuri managed. "My ankle hurts real bad. Think I twisted it."

The doctor prodded at it, and Yuri let out a yelp all over again. 'Don't fucking touch it you bastard-"

"I need to check on it, Mr. Plisetsky. I am sorry if it causes you pain."

"Yuri, let the man work," Victor said. Yuri groaned, his eyes still scrunched shut.

"What side of your ankle hurts?" The woman asked, "the inside or outside, front or back?"

"The outside."

"Possible inversion sprain, then," the first doctor said. "Can you open your eyes?"

"Hurts."

"I need you to."

Yuri did so begrudgingly, and Victor glanced around as the doctors began checking the boy for a concussion. He saw Yuuri, Christopher, Phichit, JJ, and Otabek all leaning over the rails to varying degrees in an effort to see what was going on. Victor had half a mind to stay with Yuri, but he knew Yachov would not leave him. So, he patted Yachov's shoulder and said he would go inform the others, and left without waiting for a reply.

"Is he alright?" Otabek demanded as soon as Victor was even somewhat within earshot.

Victor's expression remained solem. "Likely has a concussion, he said his vision is blurry and the light I think is hurting, and his ankle is also causing a lot of pain."

"What, was it a landing that went wrong?" Yuuri asked, his eyes wide and fingers latched onto the wall to the point where his knuckles whitened.

For a moment, Victor thought of the screws, and wondered what he should say. But he did not know JJ well, nor Hikaru Fujiwara and Cao Bin who were nearby, and although he respected Phichit, the boy hardly knew how to put down his phone, and so Victor kept quiet. "Something like that."

He could tell, however, that Yuuri, Christopher, and Otabek remained skeptical.

"Yurio lands that all the time," Yuuri protested. Victor gave a discreet shake of his head.

"Why are they bringing out a stretcher?" Otabek asked suddenly, glancing over to the side of the rink, and Victor turned to see that was exactly what was happening. Phichit let out a noise of scared objection.

"It looks intimidating," Victor consoled, "but it is protocol. They are merely being cautious. Not everyone takes concussions as seriously as they should. I would rather see them do this then make him walk, and risk worsening his condition."

This seemed to calm the others down, but Victor could not hide his unease even as he crossed back over off the ice, and latched onto Yuuri's arm wordlessly. The proximity did not help much.

"We will be postponing the other performances for the remainder of the day," an announcer said over the loudspeaker, "Any performanced scheduled to take place this afternoon will be moved to tomorrow morning. We apologize for the inconvenience."

That would mean Christopher, Georgi, Cao Bin, and Hikaru Fujiwara's performances would be moved, and Victor vaguely wondered when the duets would take place, but found it was hardly a worry at the forefront of his mind.

Somehow, Yuri was rolled off, and Yachov met them at the wall. "You," he pointed at Victor, "get the others to the hospital if they want to see him. Keep it quiet. Do not talk to any reporters. I need to find Yuri's grandfather."

Victor did not envy Yachov in the slightest.

* * *

 **A/N: Thanks for reading, hope you enjoy it! To those of you who have reviewed, thank you very much! Unfortunately, fanfiction is not letting me see the reviews, even those I see they have been left, otherwise I would reply so, hopefully, that will happen eventually. Thank you all again.**


	4. Cracked

By the time Victor had managed to wrangle Yuuri, Otabek, Phichit, JJ, and Christopher to the hospital, he could not deny the fact that his heart was pounding in his chest. If any athlete was hurt enough-it could mean the end of their career, at the worst. Even in the best case, it would mean a massive obstacle and setback for the boy. Even if he and Yuri had occasionally had their tensions, which was usual for skaters of the same location who spent too much time around each other in the past, he would never wish this on anyone. It still felt as if a screw was burning a hole in his palm.

"We are here to see Yuri Plisetsky," he told the front desk, and a bespeckled woman gave them a small, polite smile.

"He is in room three twenty eight, up stairs and to your left. However, you will have to wait to see him. He is still being looked at," they exchanged in Russian, and Victor nodded in thanks before informing the others, and they made their way upstairs.

"Waiting is murder," Christopher muttered, flopping down on one of the too-stiff couches in the halls.

"I am going to go get some hot chocolate," Phichit said quietly, shuffling from foot to foot. "Anyone want anything?"

"Tea, please?" Yuuri asked, but he did not sound entirely convincing by his tone. Phichit nodded and scurried off.

It was another painful hour before they were met by a doctor, telling them that they were finally cleared to come in. Everyone shot to their feet and rushed after them, and saw Yachov and Yuri's grandfather were already inside. Victor's nose scrunched at the sterile smell and the cold, bitter air of the room.

Yachov met them before they could even round the corner of the room and peek behind the stark white curtain to glance at Yuri. "He is going to be fine," he said, a tense smile on his face as he glanced between the newcomers. "But he has a long road ahead of him." Victor looked at him disbelievingly. Yachov's eyes narrowed, something sparking behind them, so that Victor knew not to say anything.

"He is?" Yuuri chimed immediately, evidently focusing on the first portion of the statement, "That is brilliant! Yuri, how are you feeling? Oh."

When Victor finally wormed his way around the curtain, he saw the boy had his ankle wrapped and it was slightly elevated. Ice was also placed atop of it. Yuri had his arms crossed tightly over his chest and was glaring at the ceiling. At some point he had been changed out of his uniform and given a hospital gown in exchange, and Victor vaguely wondered if someone had to cut the thing off. Yuri did not look up at any of them as they walked in, and the room suddenly felt much too crowded.

"How do you think I am feeling, piggy? I cannot skate like this."

No one knew what to say at this, except for, evidently, Yuri's grandfather. He was sitting at Yuri's bedside and looked paler than usual. He placed an arm on Yuri's shoulder, "Yurochka," he said lowly, and Yuri gave a huff in response.

"Did they tell you how long you have to stay off your feet?" Otabek asked.

Yuri slowly inhaled and let out a longer breath. "Until I can walk on it without it hurting, obviously. I'll need crutches and to keep it in a cast."

"It was a very bad sprain, third degree," Yachov supplied. "He will need to keep moving it though, so that it does not get stiff. He shouldn't need surgery. However, his ankle will be loose, so it will be something he will have to adjust to. If it gets any worse, though, long term, surgery is a possibility."

"I won't need surgery, Yachov. I won't."

"You shouldn't, so long as you don't do anything you aren't supposed to," his couch said sternly. Yuri's eyes narrowed as he continued to focus on nothing in particular. "He also has a grade two concussion. So now mental strain, and, again, he should take it easy. He needs his rest."

No one really knew what to do after that. JJ brought up the future routines, but at the way Yuri's expression contorted, everyone shot him a look to shut up, and a silence descended once more. Someone came in to remove Yuri's ice and check on him once again, during which the ice tiger of russia looked moments away from biting the nurse's fingers off as she poked and prodded.

"If he needs rest, maybe we should go," Christopher suggested, a frown tugging at his features.

"Yeah, probably…" Phichit replied.

"Take care Yuri-chan," JJ said with a grin which didn't reach his eyes. Yuri flipped him off, much to the dismay of his grandfather.

"Do not talk to the press. No social media!" Yachov hollered after them, a slight worry seeping into his tone. "Go right to your hotels!

By the time a few had piled out, it left just Victor, Yuuri, Yachov, Otabek, and Yuri's grandfather in the room. Then Yachov heaved a sigh.

"You said this was just an accident," Otabek said lowly. "I do not believe you."

"Can you two keep your mouths shut?" Yachov grumbled. Victor's expression hardened. He trusted Yuuri explicitly, and Yachov knew that. While he could understand the slight concern of Otabek, the man had traveled to Russia to train alongside Yuri before, and Yachov knew him, albeit not very well.

"Of course," Otabek said, his voice tinged with an unusual sharpness. Yuuri merely nodded without a word.

"Someone tampered with Yuri's skates. The screws holding the blade to his shoe came loose during his skate. We had them checked recently, so it could not have been an error on our part. The skates were left in the locker room overnight, so we have to assume…"

Both Otabek and Yuuri's eyes widened. Victor, already having been aware of this to an extent, glanced at Yuri. He expected anger. He expected the boy to be cursing each and everything which could have caused this. He did _not_ expect to see tears build up in the boy's eyes. Victor let out a small gasp.

"Yurochka," Yuri's grandfather said, "It's alright." This seemed to catch the attention of both Yuri and Otabek, who glance at Yuri now with varying degrees of shock.

"What did I do wrong?" Yuri finally asked, his voice tight and throat raw.

Yuuri, Otabek, and Victor jumped to rebuke him at once.

"Nothing-"

"Yura-"

"You didn't-"

Yuri, however, did not sound as if he heard them. "Then why did someone do this? What did I do wrong?"

Yuri's grandfather gently rested a hand on his shoulder once more and Yuri harshly wiped at his eyes. "You need your rest right now, Yurochka," his grandfather reminded. "Just focus on yourself. You have to stay at the hospital overnight. Do not worry about anything else-"

"How can I not worry about anything else when someone sabotaged my skates?" He screeched.

"We will figure out who did this," Victor said at once.

"We will," Yuuri assured as well. Otabek also nodded.

"Well I cannot just sit here!" Yuri protested sharply, another hand rubbing at his eyes and pushing his hair from his face once more. A few flecks of glitter from the skate flickered around at this point.

Yachov bristled. "Well you better not think about doing anything else! You have to treat your injuries!"

Yuri groaned aloud, his eyes still red, but appearing a little more composed than before.

"You just worry about yourself, Yura. We will take care of the rest, yeah?" Otabek asked, a rare hint of a smile on his features.

"Fine," Yuri grumbled. "Just figure out whoever the hell did this and why-"

"Yuri," Victor finally snapped. "Just get better."

Eventually, Yuuri, Victor, Otabek, and Yachov were told that visiting hours were over. Yur and his grandfather fought back and forth for some time on whether or not the older man should stay the night at the hospital with his grandson, with his grandfather finally winning. Victor saw a flicker of relief shift through Yuri's gaze.

"We will be back tomorrow," Otabek informed.

"Okay. Um. Thank you all for coming."

"Get some sleep, Yuri," Victor said in farewell, and the four left the room.

* * *

The four got a taxi back to the hotel, and it was not until they were in the safety of Yachov's room, having fought their way through press and Yuri's Angels alike, that they felt they could speak freely.

"How did this happen?" Yachov all but roared. "The locker rooms are meant to be locked at all times, and checked by employees. How could someone have had the time to damage his skates?"

Yuuri's voice sounded unusually small, "What if it was another skater? Security would not have even blinked an eye at that."

"Or a friend of a skater, family, fans-they could have been in the lobby and slipped into the locker room during the day," Otabek also added. "Are there security cameras?"

"Not in the locker rooms," Victor replied. "Privacy sake."

Otabek cursed.

"Shouldn't we file a report with authorities?" Yuuri asked.

Yachov plucked his hat off his head and flipped it over in his hands a few times, "Probably. I will take care of it. We all have to be prepared for the media with this, however. A skater sabotaged in his own country at a charity event… it will be a mess. You can say you hope he gets better, but that is it. Am I understood?"

A chorus of nods followed.

"Since none of us are skating tomorrow," Yuuri began, "can we hang out at the hospital?"

"If Yuri wants you there," Yachov replied. "You all have to understand what he is going through emotionally. I am not the best at this topic, but he will feel angry, or-guilty seems more like it, so far. He's emotional, and may need his space. Just know that. Now, we all need our rest, too. Get some sleep you three, and I will see you tomorrow. Be ready."


	5. Aftermath

Yuri did not sleep hardly at all. His grandfather was on the stiff as a rock couch next to his bed and snoring softly, albeit Yuri continuously heard him roll over, hinting that the man's sleep was not very sound, either. Yuri had his phone plugged in behind him and sitting on his bed, and so he mindlessly played around with it. Yachov had turned it on airplane mode until he was out of the hospital, and although Yuri knew how to turn the setting off easily, he figured the least he could do was honor the man's wishes. Besides, he was not sure if he was ready for the social media onslaught that he knew was coming. Even if the public thought his fall was merely an accident, for him to be taken off the rink in a _stretcher_ was going to cause an uproar regardless. But when the public found out the entirety of the ordeal….

Yuri halfway believed any moment now someone would pop out of the shadows of the room with a camera and announce, "Welcome to this week's episode of Pretend Life Ruiner! I'm your host and this lucky contestant is Yuri Plisetsky and this is all a rouse!" Because of course the masses would eat some shit like that right up. But this wasn't a fake, and it wasn't a game show or a hoax, it was very, very real despite the fact that Yuri hadn't fully had the chance to wrap his mind around it, yet.

The bedpan was humiliating. But Yachov had said he wasn't allowed too get up and go to the bathroom by himself due to his injury, and that they were using extra caution. Yuri thought he was more than capable of pissing in private, thank you very much, but he was having to make do. It was only for a day, and he could likely be discharged tomorrow afternoon, but the thought still made him grind his teeth together. Even then the only place he could go was his hotel, which would only be a breeding ground for reporters and Yuri's Angels and whoever the hell else wanted to show up. Yuri wondered if he could somehow sneak in through a back door.

Everyone will want to know what happened. How he was. When he could skate again-

"What did I do wrong?" He whispered to himself. "Why would someone do this? What the fuck did I do?" Did he deserve this? Did he bring it upon himself? He must have, he reasoned, otherwise it would not have happened-but how? He felt his breathing increase as well as become more shallow and he swallowed against the lump which threatened to blossom in his throat. Raking a hand through his hair jostled his leg, as the action was harsher than intended, and he winced all over again. He was on some pretty intense pain meds, but the faint glow of his phone and sterile stench and still pillows were by no means helping any. He sniffed once, twice, swallowed again, and let out a shuddering breath.

With a huff Yuri stuffed his headphones over his ears and played Edge of the Blade over and over and over again-until the words were drilled into his head and the back of his skull and he couldn't hear anything else.

But why would someone want him to stop skating? He wondered, long after he had turned off the music and closed his eyes in an effort to rest. He knew he needed it. His body needed it in order for him to recover-but how could he recover when someone had intentionally gone out of their way to hurt him? It could have been so much worse, he thought to himself, and wrapped his arms around his middle subconsciously before his eyes sprang to the door. It was shut. There were hospital staff outside, he knew, but his mind couldn't help but wonder-the person who tried to do this wasn't caught. They, whoever they were, were still out there. He couldn't think properly on who it might be-but the fear was present in the forefront of his mind. Someone did this to him intentionally. His fingers tightened around himself to the point where his short nails dug into his skin.

"Why did this happen?" He asked again, his throat becoming raw and scratchy to a painful degree and he bit down on his lip in an effort to prevent himself from crying out. He couldn't be injured. He couldn't be done with skating. He had the Olympic Trials to look forward to. He may have won gold, but he was far from done-

That is so long as he didn't need surgery. And whoever tried to hurt him didn't return to try again.

Once more his gaze sprung to the door and he pushed himself back and up against the pillow. He heard his grandfather groan and move faintly in his sleep on the couch.

"The door is shut," Yuri whispered to himself. "Fuck whoever did this. I'm-I'm safe. This is fucked. But I-it's just a sprain. Just a concussion. It'll be fine," he told himself, over and over and over again, until at some point he thankfully fell asleep, his puffy eyes and tight throat mercilessly evident in the morning.

* * *

Yuri did not sleep very much. The doctors kept coming in to check on him regularly, and although he had grown accustomed to his grandfather's snoring from them sharing a roof within a very small and thinly walled house, it still was not extremely helpful in ways. His blinds still were kept shut for the sake of his concussion, but someone from physical therapy did come down to get him to try the crutches that morning as soon as Yachov arrived. This led to Yuri trying to fling himself down the halls as fastly as physically possible to prove he was able to leave, only for the physical therapist (and Yachov and his grandfather and his doctors) to yell at him for his antics.

Fuck them. Fuck whoever did this. And fuck his fucked up ankle.

Some time after a brief breakfast of mediocre fruit and toast and tea did Victor, Otabek, and Yuuri arrive, looking rather frazzled. "Security outside is swamped," Victor informed as he walked through the door. "Some paparazzi somehow found out what hospital you were at. I think the paramedic's jackets were labeled. Apparently the phone is ringing like crazy with fans asking about you. The doctor outside said that if anyone who calls doesn't have the passcode, they will not be given any information about you."

"What's the passcode?" Yuri asked sluggishly, trying to hide his gaze from the three newcomers so they wouldn't see his red and irritated eyes.

"Two-two-eight-seven." Yuri paused, eyebrows furrowed, until this caused his head to hurt and he lessened his scowl.

Neither Yachov or Yuri's grandfather appeared surprised by this, making the Tiger of Russia wonder if they already knew about such a protocol.

After his physical therapy ended and Yuri was once more confined to a bed, the day passed uneventfully. Katsudon and Yuri's grandfather swapped recipes loudly in the corner. Otabek had apparently saved what looked like a hundred cat videos to show Yuri to make the day pass quicker and he tugged a chair as close as he could to Yuri's bed and sat down, propping the laptop up where they both could see it. Victor prowled the halls as if he was on a mission, and although Yuri would never admit such a thing out loud, he felt safe with all of them around.

"When-uh-when are the next skates for the charity?" Yuri asked, glancing up from a video of a cat stalking the inhabitants of a fish tank.

"Tomorrow Victor, Hikaru, and Christophe skate in the late afternoon one after the other," Yuuri answered.

"Can I go watc-"

"No," Yachov barked. "You will wait in the hotel and rest."

"I'll stay with you," Otabek offered.

Yuri grumbled and cursed under his breath but agreed anyways.

"Besides," Yuuri chimed, his smile not reaching his eyes, "I bet the skate will be on television, anyways. Maybe you will be able to watch it!"

"Hn. Sure."

* * *

By the time he was discharged from the hospital, the sun was already sinking in the sky. Yachov had left, absorbed by a flood of reporters and Yuri's Angels alike, to get the car. Yuri had been given a spare shirt and pants from the hotel, and Katsudon had all but forced him to wear his jacket with the hood pulled up in an effort to hide who he was. Yuri thought this was a stupid-ass idea since he would obviously be the only one on crutches, but neither Victor nor Otabek had verbally disagreed with such a thing and so it took place anyways.

The moment the main doors opened the comments started in an onslaught, and Yuri kept his head down, eyes shut, as the others guided (pushed) him towards the car as he hobbled away on the crutches, his face stinging and heating all the while. Yuri's Angels screeched and screamed and cried,

"Yura are you alright? Are you safe?"

"You're still perfect to us, Yuri!"

"We still love you, Yuri!"

But the reporters, on the other hand, were more information seeking.

"What happened to cause your fall?"

"What is the extent of your injuries?"

"Do we know what caused this?"

"Will you be able to continue in the charity skate?"

"Will this hurt your shot at the Olympic Trials coming up?"

"No comment," Victor said firmly-over and over and over again. Yuri was thankful but he would never admit it. Instead, he lowered his head, and bit his teeth, and scrunched his eyes shut so much it physically hurt.

 _Someone did this to you,_ a sinister thought whispered in the back of his mind. The camera flashes continued even after he was shoved in a car with tinted windows and the door was shut behind him. They sped off to the hotel, where they were met with a similar mob. The only thing which saved him was getting past the lobby, and by the time everyone reached the room Yuri shared with his grandfather he all but collapsed on the bed, breathing hard, and his elbows once more covering his eyes so that he couldn't see all the pitying looks. He didn't need them. He didn't.

But still, the sinister voice continued. _Someone wanted you hurt._

* * *

 **A/N: Hi and thanks for reading! Sorry about it taking so long to update, but I write for my own enjoyment whenever I have the time, and sometimes it might be a while between chapters. All the same I know sort of where I want this story to go and would like to finish it, so even if it is slow going, hopefully it'll end eventually! Don't worry, there is still much in store for this plot. I hope you all like it so far, and thank you so much to those who have taken the time to review! They make my day to read. Enjoy your day/night, readers!**


	6. Media Massacre

The previous schedule for the charity skate had basically been tossed out the window after everything was delayed following Yuri's injury, and this left Yuri constantly reloading the charity's website in an effort to see what the new schedule was, and primarily so as to know when to target as much of his bitterness as possible at the world whenever he was supposed to skate Welcome to the Madness with Otabek and now couldn't. Instead the most he and Otabek could do together was the man helping Yuri hop from the bed to the bathroom whenever he was too lazy to get his crutches.

Victor, Hikaru, and Christophe were scheduled to begin skating any moment, and so Yuri and Otabek, who had agreed to stay with him whenever he was not skating, were holed up in the hotel with the television on a medium volume so as to watch the skaters. Yuri's grandfather was out, as he had been fussing over his grandson all day and Yuri had eventually told him to take some time for himself. His heart still felt as if it hammered out of rhythm whenever he thought of what had happened, but there was no sense in him worrying his elderly grandfather any more at someone intentionally trying to hurt him.

He pulled the blanket tighter around his shoulders at the thought and hoped Otabek did not notice.

While Hikaru skated to something harsh and fast on the television, Yuri turned his attention back to his laptop. Yachov had begrudgingly allowed him back into his social media accounts, and the reactions were almost too much for him to process. Twitter blew up with hashtags everywhere from #YuriPlisetskyInjury to #YuriPlisetskyBreaksNeck and he shook his head in exasperation. Most everything people were commenting about him were positive, particularly on the Yuri's Angels pages. Comments such as "Get well soon" and "we love you Yuri" and "wishing you a speedy recovery" littered his feed. For each one he read, he felt his lips twitching slightly more, and the ebbing pain of his ankle hurt a little less. He still jumped slightly at every too-loud crash from the hall or the floor above them, but seeing just how much his fans cared about him meant a lot.

But for every twenty positive comments there were a few that rubbed him the wrong way. Some preteen skater girl who Yuri had never heard of (he stalked her Instagram after seeing her comment) wrote, _"Served him right. He was too successful too young. It wasn't fair!"_ Or worse yet was from a woman who looked to be in her early forties and based on her diy crafts page on pinterest who had a bit too much free time on her hands, _"He was always a jerk. Never smiled for pictures with my daughter. Never let her hug him. Rude! Got what he had coming."_

That was not all, however, and with every bitter comment, the kind ones hit Yuri less and less.

"Yeah that's cause there's this thing called consent, you dumbass," Otabek growled from over Yuri's shoulder, and he turned to see the man had perched himself nearby to look through the comments too. "Thinks you deserve this because you won't hug her daughter. What the hell."

All Yuri could do was rake a hand through his hair, because if he allowed himself too much time to think about such a statement, he would get worried. He knew there were weird fans out there, people who thought he would adore them and be their best friend just because they were obsessed with him. But it was easier said than done. There was a thin line he had to walk between appeasing his fans and keeping himself safe and comfortable; it was one of the few things about skating which he was uncertain about.

Vaguely he was aware of Hikaru finishing his routine on the television screen before Christophe began his own routine. The charity showcase, however, was the least of his concerns.

Then he saw another nasty comment and his eyes narrowed as he read this one aloud. "He's probably never had to work for a single thing his entire life, money can buy the best teachers—you fucker!" He did not even bother clicking on this person's profile, instead he was seeing red and he leaned forward harshly as if he could claw at the people writing these comments so safely from the other side of a screen. The motion jostled his leg which was perched atop a pillow at the end of his bed and he winced, biting down on his lip as he did so. "Never had to work for anything," he muttered mockingly, and then he began typing a reply furiously, speaking his words as he wrote them. "I've been providing for my family since I started skating. Almost all of my competition money went to pay for our house and our food. My mother doesn't do shit, but drug addiction can take away your ability to parent, my father left when I was little, all I have is my dedushka and it's not his fault he's too old to work-"

"Yura!" Otabek grabbed at his wrists and held down the backspace key before he could send the reply. Yuri did not give a damn if he sounded like a child in that moment, he whined and reeled towards Otabek with a scowl. "Do not engage them," Otabek replied. "Remember what Yachov said. We have to be very careful what we post." Finally releasing Yuri's wrists he pulled out his phone upon hearing it buzz in his pocket. While he began looking at whatever had grabbed his attention, Yuri was meanwhile taking pleasure in mentally crafting the worst, snarkiest, most fucking extra replies he could think of to everyone who was bashing him online.

Otabek than began muttering obscenities under his breath. "Hikaru posted on Twitter. _Glad you only hurt your leg and not your brain, Yuri Two. Wishing you a speedy recovery—your ankle, sadly not much can be done for the rest of you. Less competition, you know?_ "

"What the hell? I hardly even know the bastard!" Yuri roared, nearly lunging out of bed again and only stopping himself because his ankle screamed in protest once more. He angrily continued scrolling, until his phone buzzed with a text to his number, and he picked it up before frowning and the message caused him to shiver. "Uh—Beka, do you know this number?" He read it off, only for Otabek to frown and shake his head.

"Why, what did they say?"

The more Yuri read, the tighter he curled the blanket over his shoulders. " _I definitely wouldn't be leaving my things in the locker rooms at events any more._ _The doors must be so easy to lock pick if someone got to your skates in there. Good thing the hotel rooms use electronic keys, those are much harder to break into. What? Oh, sorry, too far of a joke?_ " As if on cue, there was a loud crash of a door slamming shut in the hall, causing Yuri to jump and out of reflex grab his empty water bottle and lift it as if preparing to throw it at any intruder. He let out a round of muttered curses before his throat could tighten. "This—that's just someone screwing with me, right? Right?" His nerves caused his voice to crack, and he looked over to see Otabek with a mask of an expression on.

"Don't respond."

"But-"

"No, Yuri! They likely want to rile you up, whether that is whoever is responsible or someone who just got your number off of some website or something. Don't engage them." Without waiting for permission he plucked Yuri's phone out of his hands, turned it off, and stuffed it in his own pocket before settling the water bottle turned projectile back onto the nightstand as well. For a moment Yuri forgot about the pounding of his heart in his chest in favor of pouting.

"But how did they get my number?" He asked after many moments of silence.

For the first time since Yuri's injury, he saw Otabek look doubtful. "That I don't know, but all the more reason for me to keep your phone. I don't want them contacting you at all, no matter who that was, that message did not sound as if the sender had good intentions. I know it's nearly impossible for you to go through all of the social media posts to see if anything similar pops up, but keep an eye out, okay? People can get weird. But we'll get to the bottom of this, alright? I swear. We'll figure out who did this."

While this by no means quelled all of Yuri's anxieties, he did force himself to take in a long breath and let it out slowly as Otabek reached over and put a hand on his shoulder. Yuri forced himself to close his laptop, quite done with social media for the day. "Yeah, I know we will."

* * *

 **A/N: Hey, I'm alive. Sorry for the long wait, all. Other projects and school distracted me, but I finally laid out the remaining chapters and hope to finish this soonish (so long as I can stay productive) since I don't like leaving projects unfinished if I can help it. Hope you all enjoy and let me know what you think! Anyone think they know who damaged Yuri's skates?**


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